


Moving Out and Moving In

by Maayacola



Category: Johnny's Entertainment
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-07-01
Updated: 2011-07-01
Packaged: 2018-01-17 19:47:22
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 15,005
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1400272
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Maayacola/pseuds/Maayacola
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jin won’t let this slip through his fingers</p>
            </blockquote>





	Moving Out and Moving In

Jin doesn’t really know why he’s so scared of losing the people who matter. He knows they’re not going anywhere, that just because half of his life is Los Angeles, he doesn’t have to be so damned afraid that there will be nothing waiting for him when he gets back.

It’s just he can’t help but worry that he’s not clinging hard enough, that somehow people are going to slip right through his fingers when he’s not looking. 

When he tells Ryo about it, one day, on Skype, Ryo just laughs at him. In his face.

“Sometimes I just worry that you’ll all find new friends and I’ll come home and you won’t want to hang out with me.”

“Like we’re going to replace you with someone more awesome, and your opinion of our haircuts won’t matter anymore?”

“Well, the thought crossed my mind.”

“Must have been a long and lonely journey for it,” Ryo replies. “Look. Yamapi is just as gay for you as you are for him. You don’t have to worry about him finding a new ‘best friend’ or whatever you people call it these days.” Ryo pushes a hand through his hair. It’s getting longer than Jin’s seen it since their junior days. “And I never gave a fuck what you thought of my hair.”

“I never said anything about Yamapi!” Jin protests, and Ryo snorts. 

“You don’t have to, Jin. You’re about as subtle as Kame doing fanservice.” Ryo leans forward, so that all Jin can see in the camera is one third of his face, his eye taking up most of the screen. “This is me _giving you the eye_ , Jin. Calm down. Yamapi is anxiously waiting for you to get home again so you two can have your Monday drama nights. And your Tuesday movie nights. And your Wednesday video game nights. And your Thursday gay hugging on the couch nights.” Ryo leans back again. “Get the picture?”

“How would you even know?” Jin snaps. “According to the tabloids you guys aren’t even talking.”

Ryo snorts again. “Also according to the tabloids, you’re in a secret relationship with an ex-convict named Juan Pablo.”

“What?” Jin says, and Ryo chuckles.

“I sent it in as an anonymous tip,” Ryo tells him. “One of my finer moments, I must say. And between you and me, that’s saying something.”

“I hate you,” Jin says, but he doesn’t mean it, because it is rather funny. “But seriously, I just worry we’ll all grow apart.”

“Just hold on tight with both hands,” Ryo says. “Things change, and sometimes we have to move in separate directions. But change isn’t always for the worse, Jin. And if something’s really important to you, you’ll hold onto it.”

“Thanks Ryo-chan,” Jin says, and Ryo nods. “You’re awesome when you want to be.”

“I just said something totally wise, right? I should write it down and make a song.” Ryo scrambles for a pen and paper, and Jin smiles. “Now go call Yamapi. I texted him and told him you were whining about how you were afraid you guys were going to fall out of love and now he’s sending me all these messages asking if you’re okay. It’s annoying. Deal with my mess.”

“I really hate you,” Jin tells him, and hangs up the Skype call.

It’s comforting to hear Yamapi’s voice after that. They don’t talk about serious things—just Rina’s new boyfriend, who Jin hasn’t vetted yet, so he might not be good enough for Rina, and about Shirota’s last drama with Kuroki, which Jin is totally watching for the first time because he’s been too busy until now to even contemplate it.

Yamapi’s light baritone is pleasant in his ears. It’s husky with sleep, and Jin hopes that Yamapi is getting enough sleep, and that Yamapi is eating enough. Because Yamapi is important.

“I’ll be home in two days,” Jin says, and Yamapi’s smile is audible in his voice.

“That’s great, Jin,” he says. “I’ve saved so much variety television onto my DVR for you. You’ll have to come over one day and watch all of it, because it’s almost full.”

“Will do,” Jin says. “I’ll be over so much you won’t know what to do with me.”

“Okay,” Yamapi says. “And you’re going to teach me how to use Skype, too, right? Ryo just laughed in my face when I asked him. I am terrible at computers.”

“Definitely,” Jin says. 

Jin will hang on as tight as he can.

 

***

“I hate this couch,” Jin says, as he leans to the left to avoid a wayward spring. Yamapi is slurping loudly on noodles, and Jin looks at him nervously, wondering how he should broach the subject he’s been thinking on for weeks. 

“Then don’t sit on it,” Yamapi says around a mouthful. His hair is falling into his eyes, a tangled curtain of over-processed bangs and schizophrenically dyed waves. His eyes are narrow and concentrated on his food, and Jin wonders if now isn’t the best time.

“I think we should get an apartment together,” Jin says, and Pi looks up from his instant ramen with an incredulous look on his face. 

His lips are shiny with broth, and Jin thinks he looks a little like a commercial for ramen right now— the way Yamapi eats always makes Jin think whatever he’s eating, it must be the most delicious thing on Earth. 

“What?” Yamapi blows cool air onto the noodles he’s lifted into the air with his chopsticks, and then shoves them into his mouth, making disgusting slurping sounds to suck in the noodles that hang down his chin. 

“An apartment. Together,” Jin repeats, leaving only the important words so that Yamapi will pay attention to those. He pushes a nervous hand through his hair, dragging the shorter front pieces out of his eyes as he inhales, and steadily looks at Yamapi, waiting on him to process.

“Why would we do that?” Yamapi replies, licking his lips and staring blankly at Jin. “We see each other all the time. And I like living by myself.”

“I’m always here,” Jin says. “Like, literally 6 days a week I am here. I hardly ever go back to my own apartment when I’m in Japan.” 

“That’s your own fault,” Pi says, and reaches for a cream bun on the table. Jin winces as he dips it into the ramen broth before taking a huge bite out of it, smiling contentedly at the flavor. “Go home, then.”

“But I don’t want to,” Jin whines. “I want to hang out with you.” Yamapi is strangely withdrawn as Jin talks, looking closed to Jin in a way Jin hasn’t seen before.

“Then hang out with me and quit your bitching,” Pi grunts, around another mouthful of bun. “Like seriously, what is the problem here?”

“If we lived together,” Jin wraps a strand of his hair around his finger and tugs. “If we lived together, I’d never have to go home. I could bring take-out home for dinner, like always, and then we could watch TV, like always, and then we could do the dishes together, like always. Then, instead of me sleeping on your couch, which, by the way, I’m pretty sure is possessed by the devil, or getting on the subway at eleven in the evening, like always, I could just…go to my room. And go to bed.”

Yamapi makes a thoughtful noise. “I see what you’re saying. But moving is a lot of hassle. You know that—you just moved _in_ to your place. And half the year you live in LA. And also I might start to hate you if we lived together.”

“What?” Jin asks, brows knitting in confusion. “Why?”

“Lots of reasons,” Pi answers vaguely, before shoving more noodles into his mouth. He’s staring at the TV now, pretending to ignore Jin, which he knows Jin hates. 

“Like what?” Jin asks petulantly. 

“You’re a mess,” he says flatly, when Jin insists. “I’ve seen your place, Jin. No way.”

“I could be cleaner,” Jin says. “If that’s what it took to get you to agree.”

“Why do you want this so much, Jin?” Yamapi asks, and then leans back with a sigh, patting his full stomach. 

Jin bites his lip and considers. 

Jin wants to live with his best friend. He wants to wake up in the morning without a crick in his neck form the sofa, and he wants to get out of the shower and see Yamapi dancing in the kitchen to weird KPop music and cooking breakfast, because Yamapi is fucking amazing at cooking breakfast. He wants to have two mugs in the kitchen and have one of them say Jin and one of them say Pi, and then he wants to fill them both with hot chocolate and laugh when Yamapi can’t get the whipped cream off of his nose. He wants all of this, but he can’t just say that, cause he knows it sounds kind of gay, and he knows sounding kind of gay isn’t going to get him what he wants. 

Jin wants to hold on tight, with both hands.

“Because it would be awesome,” Jin answers. “Really awesome.” 

Yamapi looks at Jin for a moment, like he’s not sure what to say, and there’s a flicker of hesitation Jin doesn’t understand in his eyes, before he exhales. “Alright Jin, if you can keep your place clean for a month, I’ll think about it.”

Jin feel excitement bubbling in his chest, and it makes him grin victoriously. He can feel the massive smile pulling at his face, and hell, even _he_ doesn’t know why a ‘maybe’ makes him so damn happy, but it does. He stands up swiftly, prompting Yamapi to look up at him wide eyed and confused. 

“Where are you going?” Yamapi asks, his hands setting his wooden disposable chopsticks across the lip of the ramen container. “It’s time for our Saturday night shows.”

Jin wipes his hands carelessly on his jeans, the rough texture of the denim remind him it’s time to do laundry, and stretches. “Well, I’ve got to go back to my apartment.”

“What?”

“I’ve got to clean it,” Jin says, and then grins hugely again. “I just have to keep it clean for a month, right? And then maybe you’ll move in with me?”

Yamapi nods slowly as Jin searches the couch cushions for his phone, which has somehow slid out of his back pocket over the course of the evening. When he looks back up at Yamapi, Yamapi’s got this anxious look on his face. “I said I’d _think_ about it, Jin. Don’t get ahead of yourself.“ 

“Okay, I hear you, I hear you. So… see you later,” Jin chirps, before slipping on his shoes and waving goodbye to an open-mouthed Yamapi still sitting on the sofa in front of the TV. Jin thinks he looks a bit lost. “Well, see you tomorrow, since I like sleeping in my own bed and not your demon sofa. And my bed, is, you know, ridiculously far across town.” 

“No one made you choose an apartment on the other side of the district,” Yamapi says with a scowl, and Jin nods sheepishly. 

“I know,” Jin says. “But think about how much more we could see each other when I’m in Japan if I lived here!”

“Yeah,” Yamapi says. “But don’t we see each other enough?” He won’t meet Jin’s eyes, for some reason, and he’s sitting stiffly.

“But we could see each other every day, even if we’re busy,” Jin says. “And that… that would be really nice,” Jin says, and Yamapi looks up quickly, catching Jin’s gaze, as Jin closes the door behind him. 

 

***

Jin knows it’s silly of him to get an apartment by himself when he’s constantly shuttling back and forth between Japan and America. He knows it’s silly, and he doesn’t care, because he’s pretty sure it’s what he wants—no rules, no sharing, and visiting people on his own terms. 

But.

When Jin moves into his first apartment, he’s really lonely.

At first, he relishes waking up as late as he pleases, without his mother banging on the door or Reio playing video games with the volume too loud at 9AM, when normal, sane people are still sleeping.

He loves that he can throw his shit all over the place and no one says anything, because it’s his fucking apartment and he can do whatever he pleases. He loves that people have to call before they come over, because he might not be home and they have to ask before they come into his personal space. 

But after about two weeks, the loneliness starts to creep across the walls of his living room and into his bedroom with alarming speed, until it coats everything Jin owns and it’s far too quiet.

Pi comes back from a concert tour two days after Jin starts to find the silence of his apartment unbearably suffocating, reaching out with it’s silent hands and clutching tightly at his throat until he feels like he can’t breathe.

Jin heads to Yamapi’s apartment about an hour after he gets Yamapi’s text that he’s made it home, safe, and he’s clutching a bag of Chinese food in his left hand as Yamapi opens the door. Yamapi’s eyes widen when he sees Jin, and Jin pulls him into a half hug with his right arm as Yamapi looks at him, and Jin smiles softly.

“I thought you might be hungry,” Jin says, and Yamapi raises one brow. “And I missed you,” Jin adds quietly, and Yamapi laughs and drags him inside, and Jin feels the loneliness melt from his shoulders like snow in the spring, and the warmth sink in all the way to his bones.

He seats himself on Yamapi’s uncomfortable couch, and Yamapi sits down next to him, the two of them touching from shoulder to knee, and it feels like home.

 

***

“Isn’t it clean?” Jin says proudly, when Yamapi drops by to surprise inspect Jin’s apartment on his way back home from a meeting. “This is going to be no sweat.”

Yamapi surveys the room and crosses his arms across his chest. “It does look pretty good,” Yamapi says begrudgingly, and then he licks his lips. “I have never seen anything you coexisted with this clean—well, maybe Kamenashi, but his OCD makes for special circumstances.”

“What?”

“You bring disorder and filth to everything you touch,” Yamapi says, and catches Jin in a headlock. “It’s gross what a mess you are.”

“Whatever,” Jin says, wrapping his arms around Yamapi’s waist in an attempt for leverage. “What’s that say about you, huh?”

“I’m immune to you by now,” Yamapi says, and Jin slides his hands under Yamapi’s shirt to tickle his side. At the touch of Jin’s hands on his skin, Yamapi releases Jin immediately, jumping back as Jin’s arms are suddenly grasping nothing but air. 

Yamapi’s face is red, and he’s looking away from Jin, so Jin can’t see the expression on his face. “What?” Jin says, confused. “What happened?”

“I don’t feel like being tickled,” Yamapi replies. “My…stomach’s upset.”

“Oh,” Jin says, still reeling from the speed at which Yamapi had escaped his hold. Yamapi steps into the living room and sinks down into one of Jin’s expensive leather arm chairs, sighing as it seems to envelop him. “When we move in together,” Jin says. “We are totally keeping _my_ living room furniture.”

Yamapi just frowns at him, and looks at Jin’s sofa with distaste, and then he shivers a little. “Bakanishi, why is it so cold?”

“Because the air-conditioner is on?” Jin says.

“Didn’t you just get home?” Yamapi asks, and Jin nods. 

“Yeah, about ten minutes before you got here,” Jin informs him.

“Then how’d it get cold so fast?” Yamapi asks, tugging down the hem of his t-shirt as he leans back further in the chair. 

“Because it’s been on all day?”

“You…left the air-conditioner on all day?”

“…Yes?” Jin says, but it’s more like a question, because he doesn’t know why Yamapi looks so agitated as he squirms in the chair.

“Do you know how energy that wastes?” Yamapi looks at him with narrowed eyes. “That is terrible for the environment, Jin.”

“Sorry?” Jin says, confused. “I just hate coming home to a hot apartment.”

“That’s so selfish. We’re trying to save energy in Tokyo and you’re refrigerating an empty apartment.” Yamapi makes a tsking sound in his throat. “This is why we can’t live together. I’d be mad at you all the time.”

“No you wouldn’t,” Jin says. “You never get mad at me. Plus I could totally remember to turn off the air conditioner.”

“Yeah right,” Yamapi says. “You can barely remember to lock your door.”

Jin crosses his arms defensively. “Just give a chance,” Jin says. “I could make you happy.” Yamapi looks at him with a raised eyebrow, and Jin feels his face flush hot. “I mean, I could be a good roommate, and not do things that piss you off.”

Yamapi bursts into laughter, and Jin reaches down to the sofa and grabs a couch cushion, throwing it vengefully at Yamapi’s head. “Shut up, I didn’t mean it like that,” Jin hisses, and then he’s tackling Pi, and Yamapi squeals in an undignified manner before he falls out of the armchair and Jin to the ground. 

They’re both breathing hard, then, and Jin just laughs, and then Yamapi is laughing too, and Jin knows, knows more than anything, that he wants _this_ , he wants _them_ every day. 

“I thought I told you my stomach was upset,” Pi says, but he doesn’t look angry. He’s never really angry at Jin, no matter how stupid Jin is. Jin loves that about his best friend.

“Seriously, Pi,” Jin says. “I can keep the place clean, and I can remember to turn off the air conditioner when I go out.”

Yamapi looks down at him somberly, mouth pressing into a thin line. “I’ll think about it, Jin.”

Jin supposes that’s the best he can do, for now.

 

***

As Jin sees it, he’s already lived with Yamapi before.

He remembers Yamapi at the dinner table every night, inhaling massive amounts of food while Jin’s mom just looking on at him dotingly, occasionally walking behind the two boys and putting soft hands on the back of both of their next and encouraging them to take another serving.

He remembers Yamapi poking at Reio, the two of them tussling just like brothers over the television remote, and Jin laughing at them as he manually switches the television station with the buttons on the bottom of the TV. 

He remembers Yamapi actually just living in his house, moving into his bedroom and staying for days on end, the both of them snuggling up into Jin’s bed, arms and legs entangled because they’re sixteen and it doesn’t mean anything. 

He remembers Yamapi huddling closer to Jin for warmth in the winter, and maybe in the summer too, because Yamapi isn’t physically cold, but they both feel less lonely when they’re together.

Now it’s Jin that feels lonely, and he just wants to be closer to Yamapi, indulge in that warmth all over again.

 

***

Shopping with Yamapi is always fun, for Jin, because it’s not like real shopping, which can be sort of fun too, but not with Yamapi. Yamapi hates shopping, so when he and Jin go out in the afternoons, venturing down the public streets in broad daylight, wearing hats and sunglasses even in the height of the summer swelter, Jin never makes them go into any stores. Instead, they venture down along the street vendors, and Jin teases and taunts Yamapi into breaking his diet with fried tempura shrimp and takoyaki. 

“I thought you said you lose weight easily? What can it hurt,” Jin says smugly, because he knows how strict Yamapi is with what he eats, and Yamapi always growls and shoves the takoyaki two by two into his mouth, cheeks puffing out from the round balls of octopus and dough. 

Jin loves the way Yamapi looks then—his idol hair pulled up into his ball cap, his face free of make-up, and his mouth pursed as he attempts to chew the takoyaki, his tongue slowly realizing that maybe it’s too hot to eat in a single gulp like that. 

“I hate you,” Yamapi says, after he’s swallowed, and Jin cackles and shoves a takoyaki into his own mouth, relishing the flavor on his tongue.

“I love Japanese food,” Jin says, eyes closing to savor. When he opens them again, Yamapi is staring at him intensely, and it makes Jin shift back awkwardly. “What?”

“You eat like your having sex,” Yamapi says, snorting. “Disgusting.”

Jin grunts with displeasure, elbowing Yamapi in the side as the start walking again. “I hate _you._ ”

Yamapi chuckles, then his eyes catch on something and he stops walking forward to crane his neck around Jin. “Hmmm,” he says, before he approaches the stall, which is selling towels and washcloths in assorted colors. Yamapi’s fingers skim across the tops of them, lingering longer than necessary on the light pink ones. “I’ve been needing new towels but I’ve been too busy to go get them,” Yamapi says, his hands running along the terrycloth of a pink towel. “I may as well.”

“Pink?” Jin says, before he can stop himself.

Yamapi looks up at him, before his eyebrows knit together. “Yes, pink. What’s wrong with pink?”

“Nothing, nothing,” Jin say, but maybe being in America so often has made him sensitive, because he feels a laugh bubbling deep in his chest as he thinks about Yamapi getting a set of pink towels. 

“Jin,” Yamapi says, his voice like a warning, and Jin can feel his eyes crinkle as Yamapi leans into his space.

“No, it’s nothing, really,” Jin says, and Yamapi’s breath smells like takoyaki, and it’s making Jin feel…hungry, but not for food, and it’s weird so he pushes Yamapi away. “Just get your gay pink towels so we can keep going.”

“Gay pink…” Yamapi puts his hands on his hips, and his baseball cap shields his eyes now but Jin can see the thin line of his displeased mouth. “There’s nothing wrong with having pink towels.”

“A whole set of them?” Jin asks, and his hand reaches out to catch the sleeve of Yamapi’s t-shirt. His fingers brush Yamapi’s arm, lightly, and it’s nothing compared to how much they tend to touch and be touched by each other on a regular basis, but for some reason Jin can feel it tingle throughout his entire body. Yamapi sighs. 

“Never mind,” he says, and then he’s walking ahead of Jin down the street, and Jin has to run to keep up. 

“I’m sorry,” Jin says. “I didn’t mean to insult your taste in towels.”

“It’s fine, Bakanishi. Just another reason we shouldn’t live together, I suppose.”

“What?” Jin asks, aghast. “Because I laughed when you wanted to buy fluffy pink towels?”

“It means our decorating senses are mismatched,” Yamapi informs him, and Jin hardly thinks that buying ugly pink towels and covering your house in repulsive ‘vintage’ furniture can be called _decorating._

“No way,” Jin replies, wrapping his hand around Yamapi’s wrist. “No way in hell is that an excuse.”

“I’m not living with someone who hates everything I buy for my apartment, Jin,” Yamapi says, and Jin tugs on the captured wrist.

“Look, Yamapi. You can go and buy those pink towels, and I will wake up and cheerfully use them everyday if that means you’ll live with me.”

“Why do you want this so bad?” Yamapi asks Jin, when they stop for ramen at a stand and Jin is halfway through a slurp of noodles. 

Jin thinks about the way Yamapi’s hair smells, fresh from the shower, the gentle scent of his shampoo climbing into Jin’s nostrils as Yamapi lays against him on Yamapi’s sofa, the television’s noise in the background and Yamapi’s deep, sleeping breaths in the foreground as Jin relishes the warmth of Yamapi against the planes of his chest. He thinks about the way Yamapi looks in the morning when Jin _does_ sleep over, and the way Yamapi laughs when Jin tries to cook something and burns it to a crisp and Yamapi has to start breakfast over again.

He treasures those moments, because those are the moments that remind him that no matter how often he has to go to America, Japan will always be home, because Yamapi is home.

“The real question is,” Jin says quietly, after he swallows his bite of noodles, “is why _don’t_ you want it?”

Yamapi sighs, and doesn’t answer the question, just taps his fingers anxiously against the side of the bowl and refuses to meet Jin’s eyes. 

When Yamapi won’t look at him, Jin feels like Yamapi is slipping through his fingers.

*

 

“What the hell are you doing?” Yamapi says, and Jin can’t see his face but it’s probably one of mild curiosity.

“Looking for X-men,” Jin tells him, and then he finds it, clasping the DVD in his hands and turning back from the cabinet to look at Yamapi, who is staring at him. He clears his throat and puts it in the DVD player, before turning back and walking toward the couch.

“When do you leave?” Yamapi asks, and the question is light, but Jin can see that Yamapi is upset because his jaw is tight and his hands are gripping the edge of the sofa.

“Next Monday,” Jin says, and Yamapi licks his lips. “How’d you know?”

“We always watch X-men right before you leave. You always choose that movie when you’re about to jet off and leave for three months, or however long you’ll be away.”

“Oh,” Jin says, and then Yamapi looks up at him, eyes somber. He grabs Jin by the forearm and tugs him down to the sofa, so Jin is laying half on top of him and half next to him. Jin can feel his own body rising and falling with the rhythm of Yamapi’s chest. “I hadn’t realized I was so predictable.”

“You are,” Yamapi says. “How long?”

“I don’t know yet. Some recording and stuff.”

“Oh,” says Yamapi. “Alright then.”

“Yeah,” Jin replies. “I guess I can’t move in with you until later, huh?”

“You act like I decided that we could move in together. I still don’t want to be your roommate,” Yamapi says as his hands find their way into Jin’s hair. 

“You’ll give in eventually,” Jin says. “I know it.”

“Not likely,” Yamapi replies. “I like having my own space.” As he says it, though, his other hand creeps it’s way along Jin’s shoulder, pulling him into a half-hug. “I’ll miss you, though.”

“You’re holding me awful close for someone who needs his own space,” Jin mumbles into Yamapi’s armpit, and Yamapi chuckles.

“Watch the movie, Jin.”

“Right,” Jin says, and then he shifts a little and is stabbed by the loose spring in Yamapi’s couch. “Fuck!” 

“What happened?” Yamapi is looking at Jin with wide eyes.

“Your stupid satan-couch,” Jin mumbles. “This couch has got to go.”  
Later, when it’s way past the time for the last train home, and Jin hadn’t driven today, Yamapi tugs Jin back with him to his bedroom instead of bringing him out a pillow and a blanket for the couch, and they both lay down in Yamapi’s bed.

“Pi?” Jin asks, as Yamapi folds Jin up in his arms. “We aren’t sixteen anymore,” Jin says, and Yamapi doesn’t bother to open his eyes.

“Did you want to sleep on the satan-couch?” Yamapi replies, his lips brushing along the column of Jin’s neck and inexplicably making Jin’s heart do these fantastical cartwheels in his chest. The smooth cotton of Pi’s pink sheets are soft beneath his cheek too, brushing against the skin and lulling him to sleep.

“No,” Jin says, and then he falls into slumber, the weight of Yamapi’s hand resting comfortingly on the small of his back. “Your couch has it in for me,” he mutters, and Yamapi’s lips curve into a smile that Jin can’t see, but he can feel it. Jin, with the last dregs of consciousness, clutches handfuls of Yamapi’s shirt in his fists, and holds on tight.

When Jin wakes up in the morning, hot and sweaty, his t-shirt sticking to him uncomfortably and his hips trapped by the thick denim of his jeans, he looks over to see Yamapi’s peacefully sleeping face and it makes his breath catch.

Yamapi’s cheekbones are sharp, and the way the sunlight filters in through Yamapi’s east-facing window makes him look almost ethereal, eyelashes resting lightly against his skin and casting a shadow that makes Jin want to keep staring.

Something coils, tight, in his gut, making him feel guilty and afraid and like he’s flying all at once, and the heavy weight of Yamapi’s arm across his belly just exacerbates the feeling—makes it more intense and terrifying. 

Jin lifts Yamapi’s arm and slides out from under him, retreating from the room. 

As he stands on the train, making his way back to his apartment to begin packing, he can’t escape the tight, nervous feeling in his gut, or the image of Yamapi’s sleeping face that keeps popping up unexpectedly whenever he closes his eyes.

He’s just getting an early start on homesickness, he thinks. Just realizing how much he’s going to miss his best friend. It’s nothing to worry about. 

Still, the memory of lips innocently brushing against sensitive skin lingers.

***

Los Angeles is just how Jin remembers it—warm, welcoming, anonymous. Jin knows he’s trying to get famous here—partially succeeding, too, with the moderate success of his first single last year and all the hype about his first album building up underground, but he kind of likes the feeling here of walking down the street and not fearing a mobbing. It’s kind of a relief, to be able to be just another person on the streets.

Not that he’d trade being famous for anything, though. He’s luckier than most, and his fans are surprisingly loyal, even when he disappoints them. He appreciates that, and he thinks it’s all worth it to do a job he loves. 

Yamapi had come to visit him, last year, like a slice of home when Jin had felt almost buried under the weight of recording and producing an American album and a Japanese single, as well as doing the redubbing for his movie. It was intense, but Yamapi had come, banned Jin from his own kitchen, and done all of Jin’s laundry, and Jin had felt completely and totally at peace for the first time in weeks.

It’s not that Jin doesn’t love L.A. He does. He loves it a lot. 

It’s just that sometimes, Jin counts the days on his fingers until he gets to see his family again. Until he gets to see Yamapi again, too.

 

***

Sender: numbaoneyegga@gmail.com  
Recipient: tomosaybody@gmail.com

Yo Pi,

I think I found the perfect lamp for our new apartment. It isn’t pink though.

Also met this really hot chick at the club last week. Might bring her back with me. Don’t get jealous.

J.

Sender: Tomohisa  
Recipient: Bakanishi

I never agreed to move in with you Bakanishi. So don’t going buying things for a new apartment that I haven’t agreed to getting.

And that’s another reason we shouldn’t live together. You’ll bring girls home all the time and I’m too busy to be kept up by your caterwauling at all hours of the night.

Tomo

Sender: numbaoneyegga@gmail.com  
Recipient: tomosaybody@gmail.com

H8ter.

J-dawg

***

 

"Wake up and talk to me!"

"Jin, it's three in the morning. What the hell?"

Jin leans back against his truck and presses his cell closer to his ear. Yamapi's voice is tinny in his ear, and husky with sleep. But not angry. Never angry. "This is the only free time I have today," Jin says. "The only free time I have for the next week." Jin lifts his sunglasses up from his nose and uses them to hold back his hair. Now he has to squint, but Jin can't read at all with the sunglasses on. He flips open his planner, a tiny brown leather thing he always manages to slip into one pocket or another. "The only other time would have been while you were working, probably."

Yamapi grunts acceptance, and it makes Jin smile. "Fine," Yamapi says, and Jin can hear him dragging himself up into a sitting position. "What do you want?"

"Just wanted to hear your voice. It's been, what, two weeks?"

"You're such a girl," Yamapi says, laughing. "We dudes can go for weeks without talking and never notice a difference, because bros are for life."

"You didn't miss me at all?" Jin asks, his voice lilting at the end of the sentence in a gentle tease.

"Of course I missed you," Pi grumps. "It's been thirteen days since you last called. I've been getting good sleep at night, but I'm on edge waiting for my ass-o-clock in the morning phone call."

"I thought bros could go for weeks without noticing a difference?" Jin half-asks, have repeats. 

"You know we've never just been regular old bros, Jin," Yamapi says, and Jin can hear the smile in his voice. "We're best friends."

"Yeah," Jin says, and there's the tiniest of flutters in his belly. "Forever." He thinks of the weight of Pi’s arm across him, weighing him down to the bed.

"Of course," Yamapi says, like forever is implied. "What have you been up to?"

"Making music," Jin says. "Making lots of music."

"Cool, cool," Yamapi says, and it's punctuated by a yawn. "Jin, I have rehearsal, dance rehearsal no less, at around eight tomorrow, so..."

"I understand," Jin says, and he's staring into his planner still, at the circled number seventeen. "Are you busy on the seventeenth?"

"I dunno, Jin, that's three weeks from now."

"Mark four AM on your calendar," Jin tells, and then closes the book with finality. 

"Why?"

"Because I'll need a ride home from Narita," Jin answers, and Yamapi makes a loud whoop into the receiver, and Jin has to hold the phone out at arms length in order to save his eardrums. 

 

***

Jin's last night in Los Angeles is spent, as expected, in a nightclub, where the strobe lights are bright and the jewelry and rhinestones hanging off the women are even brighter. Jin is pleasantly buzzed, but not drunk, and the music is good, and Dom is gone but Jin is surrounded by pretty girls, so who really gives a fuck about Dom.

At first he's surprised when he feels strong hands slide around his hips and pull him back against a strong chest, but Jin has danced with guys before, it works about the same. He doesn't see the harm in dancing with mixed genders-- they're all here for the love of the beat.

But when Jin feels a hard cock press into his back, it shocks him. He turns around to tell the guy that just because he dances with mixed gendered partners doesn't mean he fucks mixed gendered partners, but something about the line of the man's jaw makes him hesitate, and it's just long enough for the man to lean down and press hot lips against his own.

Jin doesn't know how he ends up pressed against a wall, with a set of hips thrusting against his own, two hard cocks grinding to the beat of David Guetta over the speakers, but for some reason, he can't stop it. He doesn't want to stop it.

The man sucks hard on his shoulder, pulling the neck of his shirt to the side and stretching it out of shape, leaving a vivid bruise against his skin. Jin is sweating, not just from the heat of the club, but from the aching arousal that somehow spreads like wildfire through his whole body.

"What?" Jin says, or tries to say, but it comes out as more of a gasp as the man thrusts against him hard, cutting the words off in his throat.

"I knew you'd be good," the man says, and his voice is deep, and then he's kissing Jin roughly and his stubble scratches Jin's face, but Jin kind of likes it, likes the little bit of pain that accompanies the sharp, repetitive jolts of pleasure. "The way you moved your hips, I could tell."

It's all a blur, and Jin is shaking with the need to come. His hands find their way to the back pocket of the man's jeans, dragging him closer, and then he's releasing, and the man is panting in Jin's ear and Jin can feel him jerking and then.

And then Jin is alone, shirt askew and left red and gasping against the wall. The man has disappeared into the crowd, and Jin is so confused.

Because for a moment, just a moment, he imagined that the lips mouthing their way up his jaw belonged to Pi, pressing gently and naturally against his throat as they fall to sleep.

***

"Dude your face," Dom says when Jin walks into the kitchen, and Jin freezes. 

"What about it?" Jin asks, still feeling a little tired. He reaches into the fridge for a nectarine and bites into it, the juice running down his face. For some reason it stings. "I'm tired, but I'll sleep on the plane."

"Dude, you look like the girl you made out with last night had a beard," Dom says with a chuckle. "Your face is all irritated."

"Um," Jin says, and then he blushes. He tries to turn around before Dom can see, taking another distracting bite of fruit, but Dom is quicker. 

"Oh," Dom says, and Jin swallows. The nectarine is sweet on his lips and tongue. "I didn't know you liked guys."

"Neither did I," Jin replies, and then he's looking up at the ceiling. "Neither did I."

"Well," Dom says. "It's not a big deal, right?" he stands up from the table and claps Jin on the shoulder. "You need a napkin."

As Jin pulls a paper towel off the roll, his hands are trembling.

He closes his eyes, and when he thinks about last night, about the hard lines and unshaven cheeks, he thinks he might not mind doing it again.

That’s when he starts to wonder if loneliness is the only reason he wants to live with Pi; if the way his heart beats faster when he thinks about Pi might be a little different than he had previously imagined. 

He doesn’t want to think about it. It’s easier, and better if he doesn’t.

Nothing has changed. Yamapi is his best friend. He’s just homesick, and longing for the familiar. 

That’s all.

Nothing has changed. 

***

"Jin!" Yamapi calls out, and even though Jin should be mad at him for calling attention to them like this, he can't fight the giant smile that bursts across his face. 

Yamapi picks him up, and Jin is shocked by how strong he is-- how small he feels next to Yamapi now, even though they're the same height. "Jin!" Yamapi says again, like he's reassuring himself that Jin is really here. Jin feels his feet hit the floor, and then he's stepping back and grinning, a smile that makes him feel like his face'll break in half if it gets any wider.

Their secret handshake, the one they've had for years and years and isn't even all that terribly secret anymore, is the first thing they do after that, and then they're both laughing and bumping each other as they walk through the airport. Yamapi's wearing this ridiculous hat that hides his whole face, basically, with this giant sagging pom pom that reminds Jin of being eighteen, and Jin finds a way to mention that fact at least once every three minutes. But Yamapi's not annoyed, Jin knows he isn't, because even though equally giant sunglasses obscure Yamapi's eyes, Jin can see the corner of his mouth twitch in that way it always does. Yamapi doesn't have to say a word for Jin to understand him.

Yamapi's always been better at being quiet than Jin, even when they were young. Jin can remember when Yamapi used to try his best to fade into the background.

"C'mon Pi, why are you back there? Aren't you going to hang out with us?" he'd ask, and Yamapi would shyly nod his head before taking a half-step forward.

Looking at the strong confident man next to him now, you wouldn't guess it. But Yamapi's still Yamapi, even if nowadays, he's always standing in the front. 

Jin's glad the world sees Yamapi the way he always has-- Yamapi, to him, has always been a shining star.

Jin feels relief uncoil in his chest, because everything is the same.

 

***

It only takes nine hours, forty-three minutes, and eighteen seconds after getting off the plane to realize that actually, _everything_ has changed.

"Jin, what's wrong?" 

Jin's eyelids are heavy, and his back hurts from ten hours on a plane, and his head aches terribly. He feels dirty and tired and he just wants to curl up into a ball under his comforter and sleep for a million years, or at least twelve hours. But even though all of those things are wrong, they aren't the answer to Yamapi's question.

Jin swallows.

"Hello, Earth to Jin?" Yamapi waves a hand in front of Jin's face, and Jin leans back reflexively, which garners a frown from Yamapi as they sit next to each other on Yamapi's disastrously upholstered _thing_ that Yamapi frequently insists is a couch. "Do you need me to take you home? Or you can crash on the couch."

"I'm not sleeping on that death trap," Jin says, and his voice is strange and chalky, and he doesn't quite know why. “And we’re too old to be sharing beds.”

He doesn't know why he's here, at Yamapi's place, instead of at home in his bed, either. Only Yamapi had picked him up at the airport at four in the morning, and they'd been so excited to see each other again after five months apart that it had just seemed natural for Yamapi to drive them both to his place. "Your place is going to be so dusty," Yamapi says. "You sure you don't want to stay?"

"There is not enough money in the world to make it worth my while to sleep on that couch," Jin tells Yamapi, somehow managing to get the words out.

"You were fine just a minute ago," Yamapi says, and he seems confused. "Why are you so...cranky? What's wrong?"

Yamapi's hair is in disarray, and his perm is hideous, as usual. He's got cheese dust around his lips from the chips they had picked up at the convenience store and devoured as they played video games, and his shirt has a hole in the left armpit that is even more visible when Yamapi throws his hands up in victory because Jin keeps falling asleep mid-race. Jin's back still hurts, and Yamapi's stupid sofa isn't improving the situation. All of these things are _wrong,_ but they aren't the answer to the question "what's wrong."

"It's just jet-lag," Jin says, but it isn't jet-lag, not really. Yeah, Jin is tired-- exhausted even, but he's functioned, hell, _worked_ , on less sleep than this. 

What's wrong is that Jin, suddenly, feels every single millimeter of skin where Pi's arm is alongside his own. 

What's wrong is that Jin is mesmerized by the play of light across Yamapi's angular cheekbones as the last of the day's sunlight filters through the window, the way it creates a shadow over his full lips. 

Jin's always losing things. His keys, his hair ties, his chapstick, the quarters he keeps in the pocket of his jeans to feed the parking meters in Los Angeles. He's always losing things, but not like this.

In the nine hours, forty-three minutes and eighteen seconds since Jin walked off of a plane and into Yamapi's arms, Jin has lost his _mind_. 

Because all Jin can think is that he wants, more than anything, to kiss Yamapi; press his mouth to those famous lips and catch the gasp, letting his tongue sneak inside--

"I just want to go home," Jin says, and his voice croaks out of his rapidly closing throat. "It's been a long trip, and I should sleep in a real bed. My bed."

"Alright then," Yamapi replies. "Can you find your apartment keys, even?"

Jin nods, slowly, and pats his right pocket. Yamapi sighs and stands, his muscles rippling under tanned skin, and Jin is still trying to figure things out, but he wants to kiss the tendon in Pi's neck too. And when Yamapi holds out his hand to pull Jin up, the warmth of his palm burns all the way up Jin's arm, and Jin doesn't want to let go.

"Thanks for the ride," Jin says, as Yamapi pulls to a stop in front of Jin's apartment. "Don't forget to pop the trunk."

"Anything for you, Bakanishi," Yamapi jokes, and smiles, and Jin's heart stops, right there in his chest, at the gorgeousness of that grin.

“If we lived together, you wouldn’t _have_ to drive me home,” Jin says, but his heart isn’t in it. Yamapi doesn’t seem to notice, just rolls his eyes as Jin shuts the door to the car.

Later, after he's surveyed the layer of dust covering everything and dragged his suitcase into the center of the floor, Jin curls up on his bed, right in the center, not bothering to untuck the stale-smelling covers left long-unused. He's still wearing his jeans and his shirt smells like sweat, and he doesn't care, because somehow, since Jin first saw Yamapi this morning, something inside of him has broken down, or broken through, and suddenly everything, _everything_ is upside-down and inside-out, and it's all he can do to wrap arms around himself and will the strange feeling to go away by morning.

It doesn't.

Jin is screwed.

***

Ryo sounds cranky on the phone when Jin answers after one ring.

“So you _aren’t_ dead,” Ryo says. “Why does Yamapi think you are dead?”

“I don’t know,” Jin says sullenly, picking at a loose thread at the waist of his fleece-lined sweatpants. He swallows.

“Hmmm,” Ryo says. “Well, I’ve got some guesses.”

“Oh yeah?” Jin says. “You have no idea—“

“Well, I _think_ he must be calling you somewhere between ten to fifteen times a day,” Ryo interrupts. “And you’ve avoided every single one of those calls for, hmm, something like four days?”

“I’m just busy, and I don’t have time to answer my phone—“ Jin starts, but then Ryo snorts.

“Bullshit,” he says. “You have plenty of time. You don’t have to go into work for another two days, according to your manager. You know, that poor man who is _actually_ busy, and yet _still_ answers his phone.”

“I hate you,” Jin says. “Don’t stalk me.” The thread is unraveling under Jin’s persistent fingers, and the seam of the waistband is coming undone. It doesn’t matter, Jin supposes. They’re Yamapi’s anyway.

“See, I don’t have much choice,” Ryo tells him. “Because Yamapi is going to jump off a bridge and or keep badgering _me_ until you call him back. To be honest, I’d prefer the former, because I am a busy man.”

“I’m sorry,” Jin tells him, feeling a little bit guilty that Ryo’s getting dragged into his problems. “It’s complicated.”

“It’s not that complicated,” Ryo tells him. “When the phone rings, and you see Yamapi’s name, you hit the green button on the left, not the red button on the right. This connects the call. Then you hold the phone up to your ear, right? And you listen. And then you talk into the mouthpiece. You’re doing it right now with me. It’s exactly the same as this, except _I am not involved._ ”

“That’s not what I meant,” Jin says. “And you know it.”

“I figured,” Ryo says. “Did you have a Gay-piphany, finally?”

“A _what_?” Jin asks, his voice going higher than he intends. He clears his throat. “I don’t get it.”

“A gay epiphany. That moment where you, Jin Akanishi, realize you’ve been in gay buttsex love with your best friend Tomohisa Yamashita for years, and now you don’t know what to do about it so you’re reacting like a middle school girl with her first crush?”

“I just hate you so much,” Jin tells him, knowing Ryo will hear both the scowl in his voice, and the admission that he’s being silly. 

“Just answer your phone, dumbass. Unless you want Yamapi to actually just go jump off a bridge. I won’t stop him, because I am selfish and easily annoyed.” Ryo pauses for a moment, and Jin can hear a quick intake of breath on the other end of the phone, like Ryo is trying to decide if he should say something else. “This isn’t the way to hold on tight, Jin. Ignoring his calls isn’t going to make it better. You either get over it whatever the problem is, or talk to him about it.”

“The latter is not an option,” Jin says with a laugh, and now he can pull the fabric of the waistband open to see the strip of elastic inside. “Thanks, Ryo-chan.”

“Whatever,” Ryo says, sounding smug. “I am all-knowing and wise.”

“Go write it down, or something,” Jin tells him.

 

***

 

"Hello?" Jin says miserably into the phone, and Yamapi is silent on the other end of the line.

"I'm sorry," Jin says, closing his eyes and leaning his head back so it presses against the wall behind his mattress. He'd never bothered getting a headboard, and now that he doesn't live here full time, it doesn't seem worth the effort. 

"Did I do something wrong?" Yamapi asks, suddenly, like he's in a terrible rush to get all the words out in case Jin decides to hang up the phone. "Because if I did, I'm really sorry."

"Nothing's wrong," Jin replies, and then he anxiously pushes his hand through his hair. "Seriously."

"Then why are you acting so weird?" Yamapi's voice sounds small. "Why don't you want to see me?"

It reminds Jin of when he and Yamapi had gotten into their only fight, when they were still tiny juniors, really, and he had refused to talk to Yamapi for two weeks. He'd remained steadfast in his vow of silence until he'd seen Yamapi crying on Toma's shoulder one day out behind the _jimusho_ in the parking lot, eyes puffy and shoulders trembling, and Toma had glared down at him over his large nose and given him a look that could skin a cat.

"Don't be stupid," Jin says. "Of course I want to see you." _Too much_ , he almost adds. "Who else is stupid enough to try my cooking?"

"That's not stupidity, Bakanishi," Yamapi says, and there's something strange in his voice. "That's love." 

Jin's heart feels so full it could burst, and he thinks it's weird that a person can be filled so completely with both joy and despair at the same moment-- how one word can mean such different things. 

"You homo," Jin says. "Come over for dinner." His hands fiddle with the sheets on his bed. They smell stale and old, and he hasn't washed them since he came home. He _should_ wash them. He smells his arm, and thinks maybe he should wash himself, too. 

"Alright," Yamapi says. "I'll be over around five." Then Yamapi clears his throat. "Jin, if you ever...if something's ever wrong between us, don't...don't avoid me, okay?" 

There's silence, where Jin thinks of all the thing he could say, and all the things he'll never say. He thinks about the man in the night club, too, but when he imagines the whole scenario again, like he does every time he closes his eyes, this time it's definitely Yamapi he feels pushing him roughly against the wall, sliding his thigh between Jin's legs. 

"Yeah," Jin says. "I won’t."

***

There's too much salt in the rice, and the egg is black around the edges. As far as cooking fails go, this is a fairly mild one for Jin, and Yamapi has barely any trepidation on his face.

"It looks..." Yamapi tilts his head to the side, as if he's trying to pick the perfect word to describe Jin's efforts. "Edible," he says, with and air of finality, and Jin nervously cracks a smile. 

"I _may_ have forgotten about the eggs for just a minute. I swear, I was on the phone with Kamenashi for like five seconds, and he was being prissy and bitching about his new girlfriend, and then there was all this smoke, and I was going to start screaming, but then I remembered I could just turn the eye off, but then the smoke detector..." Jin trails off as he sees Yamapi's head fall to the table, and his shoulders quake. "What's wrong?!"

Yamapi looks up and his face is creased with laughter. "Bakanishi, you are absolutely hopeless," Yamapi says, and he picks up his chopsticks, breaks off a big piece of egg yolk, and shoves it into his mouth. Jin watches with bated breath as Yamapi chews slowly and thoughtfully, his face running through a wide gamut of expressions.

There's a piece of yolk lingering on his lips, and Jin's hand itches to wipe it off. "Well?"

"Not bad, Jin. I don't even think I'll get sick this time."

"Shut up," Jin says, but he releases the breath he's holding. "Is it really okay?"

"We'll make a chef out of you yet," Yamapi says. "That way, when you get married, you can cook for your wife and eight hundred kids."

"I don't even have a girlfriend," Jin mumbles, looking down at the table. "What makes you so sure I'm going to get married?" He traces the wood-pattern with his fingertip, watching his finger skate along the ridges as he tries to keep a straight face, and tries not to give anything away. His breath feels trapped in his lungs, and his stomach knots painfully. “Anyway, just think! If you move in with me, you can eat my fantastic cooking every day!”

“What an incentive,” Yamai says dryly, but he avoids the subject of moving in, instead returning to the one Jin anxiously tries to guide them away from. "Jin, you're like, _destined_ to fall in love. You've got this big heart, and you're a huge romantic that tumbles into love, and I can't imagine you without a million kids." Yamapi's mouth is whirled up on one side, in a fond grin. It looks a little melancholy, too, but maybe Jin is reading things that aren’t there. 

Jin laughs, and to his own ears, it sounds a little harsh. "I'm going to be alone forever," Jin says, and Yamapi rolls his eyes.

"Such _melodrama_ ," Pi says. "You won't be alone forever." He shoves another bite into his mouth, and Jin can't help the dry feeling in his throat as he looks at his best friend. His hair is kind of a mess, the bangs tied up off of his forehead, and he's sweaty and gross from the gym, and _damnit all_ , Jin thinks, he's still so beautiful. "You'll find someone to love." His mouth is full of egg and rice and chicken. "Trust me."

Jin does trust him, but it's not finding someone to love that's the problem. It's finding someone else to love.

As Yamapi laughs and launches into a story about Toma and his many misadventures with gym equipment, Jin wonders how you move on when the perfect person is right in front of you.

 

***

 

Jin is grinding the coffee beans when his cell phone rings. "Jin, do you have coffee?"

"Hey Pi," Jin says. "Good morning to you too."

"I have an hour break, and your place is closer than mine. I need to shower, and I want coffee, so if you don't have any, I have to get some on the way to your place."

"I'm making it right now," Jin says with a chuckle. "Do what you must."

"See you in ten," Yamapi says, and then he hangs up, and Jin throws on a t-shirt, and drags his hair into a ponytail, knowing he's done a haphazard job of it but not really caring.

When Yamapi comes into Jin's apartment, he's covered in glitter and baking soda, and Jin doesn't ask any questions. He just hands Yamapi a mug of coffee, that he drains in fifteen seconds in a single gulp. “If you lived with me, I could always make you coffee,” Jin tells him, and Yamapi laughs shortly. 

Then Yamapi just hands the mug right back, and disappears into the shower, and Jin stares bemusedly at the empty mug in his hands for a few seconds before taking it to the kitchen.

When Yamapi reappears, he looks a thousand times cleaner. He's got a towel wrapped around his waist, and he hadn't bothered to dry his hair, so it hangs wet, clinging to his face and neck and dripping down onto his chest.

"Get dressed," Jin says to Yamapi, and his voice must sound harsh. He's surprised he can make it come out at all, to be honest.

“What’s the big deal?” Yamapi says, shrugging. “You’ve seen me naked before.”

“This isn’t your house,” Jin snaps, unable to tear his eyes away from the smooth lines of Yamapi’s abs. “You don’t even want it to be your house, so get dressed.”

Yamapi frowns. “Why is this so important to you, Jin?”

“I just want to hold on as tight as I can,” Jin says, his voice dry and catching in his throat, and then he blinks, because he feels the tears of hopelessness and desperation building in the corner. 

He brushes past Yamapi, and locks himself into his bedroom. When he comes out, two hours later, Yamapi is gone. 

There’s a note on the kitchen table.

 _Bakanishi,_ it starts. _I drank the rest of the coffee._ Jin laughs, because he’d known from the minute Yamapi had called that Yamapi was going to drink all the coffee. _And,_ the note continues. _I’m not going anywhere, whether I live with you or not. You’re stuck with me._

 

***

 

They fall asleep on the couch, one night, and when Jin wakes up in the morning, a crick in his neck and smelling sweaty and gross and desperately needing a shower, he can feel Yamapi’s slow and steady exhales ruffling his hair, and he can’t bring himself to move.

Yamapi cooks them both breakfast, forbidding Jin from touching anything because he’s actually really hungry and he likes his kitchen the way it is. Jin watches with amusement as Yamapi turns on TVXQ and dances around as he whisks the eggs in the bowl with a steady practiced hand.

“You have to live with me,” Jin says, and Yamapi sighs loudly and exasperatedly. “I eat so much better.”

It pulls at him, tugs at him unceasingly, this feeling, and he can’t make it stop. 

Jin leaves right after breakfast. When he gets to his apartment, he gets into the shower, turning the water on full blast and sitting down, leaning his back against the tile and wrapping his arms around his knees. 

Everything feels a little impossible, and Jin doesn’t want to, _can’t_ lose his best friend over this.

 

***

Jin tries not to have existential crises on a frequent basis, because usually he cries and then his eyes are all puffy, and Johnny always asks him if he’s started doing drugs when his eyes are puffy. 

But lately he can’t concentrate on anything but the conflicting feeling of wanting to run away and wanting to be closer all at once. Of wanting to pull Yamapi into his arms and kiss the smooth skin on his shoulder and run his hands up Yamapi’s svelte sides. Of not being able to meet Yamapi’s eyes when Yamapi tries to catch them from across the room to share a tiny inside joke, or of flinching from Yamapi’s familiar touch because of the jolt it sends through his entire body. 

It’s driving him insane, burning him up inside, and he tries to keep it bottled up, to enjoy this time he and Yamapi have together, because he doesn’t know how long it will last, but it _hurts_ , it fucking hurts, and sometimes he wants to just curl up into a ball until he can’t feel it at all anymore. 

Jin, like Yamapi warned him, has tumbled into love. 

Ryo drops by Jin’s apartment early in the afternoon one day. Jin opens the door, hair disheveled and eyes red from wallowing, and Ryo looks at him and rolls his eyes. 

“Go take a shower,” he says sharply, pushing past Jin and disappearing into the kitchen. Jin here’s him opening the refrigerator, and the tell-tale crinkling of his unopened loaf of bread being removed. “Now.”

When Jin emerges from the shower, wearing the destroyed sweatpants with the elastic showing at the waist, Ryo is waiting in the kitchen with two sandwiches.

“Sit down,” he says. Jin reaches for a sandwich, but Ryo smacks his hand. “If you want a sandwich, go make your own,” he tells Jin, and Jin looks at him incredulously. 

“It’s my food,” Jin says.

“It’s my service fee for dragging you kicking and screaming out of your own mental deficiency,” Ryo says, taking a huge bite of his first sandwich. Jin sighs and leans back. 

“I think I’m crazy,” Jin says. “I don’t know how to get over him.”

Ryo pauses in his sandwich eating, then carefully sets the sandwich down on the plate. He daintily pats around his mouth with a paper towel. “What?”

“My Gay-piphany, remember?” Jin says, and his hands are gripping the sides of the chair for want of something else to do with them. Jin wants to bite them, but that’s a habit he somehow trained himself out of years ago and he doesn’t want to get back into it now. 

Ryo is looking at him with wide eyes and Jin feels strange, like he’s completely exposed to Ryo’s questioning gaze. “I was…Jesus, Jin, I was _kidding_ , holy fuck.”

“Oh,” Jin says, and feels himself coloring under Ryo’s disbelieving stare. “Well, here we are.”

“Damn,” Ryo says. “You’re fucked.” Ryo tilts his head to the side, eyes still on Jin, who is blushing but meeting Ryo’s stare rather defiantly. Ryo lifts up his sandwich and takes another bite. “Or not fucked,” he adds consideringly. “I guess that’s the problem, right? No fucking.”

“I hate you so much,” Jin says, and Ryo chuckles, pushing a sandwich toward Jin. 

“Eat, Akanishi,” Ryo says, and there’s a modicum of sympathy in his voice, undetectable to the naked ear but Jin knows Ryo rather well by now. “Food is better than sex, anyway.”

“I’ll tell that to your girlfriend Shige next time I see him,” Jin says, and Ryo picks up the salt-shaker nonchalantly from the table and throws it at Jin’s face. It hits Jin hard in the forehead, and he winces and rubs at the sore spot. “Ow, you fucker.”

“Your reflexes have gotten dull, Jin.”

“Your temper has gotten shorter, more like,” Jin replies. “What should I do, Ryo-chan?” Jin adds on a more serious note. 

“Probably cry, then write a song about it in English so Yamapi won’t understand it.”

“You wouldn’t understand it either,” Jin jokes. “English isn’t really a strong suit for you.”

“Added bonus,” Ryo says, and Jin laughs faintly. “Look Jin, do I look like a guy who has successful relationships? I don’t know what to tell you.”

“Okay,” Jin says.

“But you can’t just close your eyes and wish the problem away. You’re going to lose your friend this way, and I’m pretty sure that’s not what you want.”

“Of course it isn’t,” Jin says hotly, and then he deflates, burying his head in his arms on the table. He focuses on the dull throbbing in his forehead to escape the dull throbbing in his chest.

“I’m becoming the Dalai Lama, or something,” Ryo says thoughtfully. “I should write a book.”

“With what free time?” Jin asks. “You’re busy enough as it is.”

“With all the time I waste counseling your stupid ass. Actually, calling you stupid is like an insult to stupid people everywhere.”

“You’re so mean,” Jin says, but he does feel strangely better. 

 

***

Jin is still thinking about Ryo’s advice, later, when he’s sitting on Yamapi’s couch, watching television. Yamapi is in the kitchen doing dishes, and when he finishes, he comes out of the kitchen with something slow and purposeful in his step. Jin doesn’t look away from the television, but his stomach does that sickening clench it always does now, and his palms, pressed flat against his own thighs, start to sweat. 

“So Jin,” Yamapi says, and Jin’s heart sinks because he’s out of time to figure this out. “What’s wrong with you lately? You’re acting bizarre.” Yamapi is looking through a magazine, and nonchalantly sits next to Jin on the sofa, on the side closest to the exit so Jin has to step around his long legs to escape. 

Yamapi is cornering him in his own way, Jin supposes, because Yamapi’s not big on confrontation. Jin should have seen it coming, with the way he’s been avoiding Pi in a lot of ways—shying from his touch and from his gaze ever since he realized there was no getting over him. Yamapi is staring at the magazine, not looking at Jin at all, in the way that he does when he is trying really hard to pretend like he’s not intensely interested but he secretly is. “You don’t usually keep secrets from me.”

“I…” Jin doesn’t know what to say, not really. All the words he wants to say sound trite and silly now, like they aren’t enough to convey the depth of his feelings. Like Pi will just laugh at him anyway, so maybe he should just spit something else out. “I just want to be close to you,” he blurts out, and while he’s surprised at the words his subconscious has chosen, he thinks they’re the right ones.

“You are close to me, Jin,” Yamapi says, sounding confused and lost. “I don’t understand what that has to do with living with me, or with why you won’t even look at me nowadays. If I’ve done something to make you—“

“When I wake up in the morning at my apartment,” Jin tries to explain, “it’s cold. Even in the summer, without air conditioning, it’s cold.” He licks his lips. “But your house is always warm, even in the winter, when you refuse to turn on the heat because you are worried about global warming or some shit.”

Yamapi is staring at Jin like he has three heads. “That doesn’t make any sense, Jin.”

“It’s too quiet, at my place, unless you’re there. You’re my best friend, and you…you fill the silence in a way no one else can.”

Yamapi does laugh, then. “So you’re too lonely living by yourself? I mean, that explains why you want me to live with you, but not why you’ve been acting so damn weird. Why you’ve been avoiding me.” Yamapi flips aimlessly through the magazine, stopping every now and then to read a caption to a photo.

Jin looks miserably at his hands. “I’m not done,” he answers, before he screws together something that might be courage, but Jin’s mistaken recklessness for courage before. His cuticles are a little raw, red and puffy, and he has at least two hangnails. “There’s…more.” Jin almost chokes on the words. 

“What?” Yamapi says, and turns his full attention to Jin as he registers Jin’s strangled tone.

Jin flushes under the scrutiny, but speaks. “I’d be lying if I said those are the only reasons I want to live with you.”

Yamapi’s brows climb his face. 

Jin scrambles for the words. “When I fall asleep next to you on the couch, I sleep better than I do in a proper bed anywhere else,” he says. “And when I hear you singing and dancing in the kitchen in the morning I feel this awful, sugary feeling like I just drank seven bottles of Pepsi and they’re just sitting in the pit of my stomach, and I think to myself _‘This is the only thing I want to wake up to,’_ and it’s stupid, I know it’s stupid, but I want it all the time.”

“Jin…”

“And when you lay your head in my lap, and I’m playing with your hair while we watch trivia shows, I imagine myself in twenty years doing the same thing.”

“Jin—“

“And I used to have this dream, of this white house and these two kids and this dog and this faceless woman, and it was like, my perfect family, and now instead all I can see is you and Pin and sometimes kids but always YOU, smiling at me and wearing terrible clothes and having terrible haircuts and refusing to turn on the air-conditioner, _and I can’t help it_.”

Jin can feel his eyes welling up, a little, and he doesn’t want to look at Pi, to see the realization slowly dawn, to see the confusion slowly change to disgust. 

Yamapi’s voice is soft and disbelieving. “Jin, what are you saying?”

Jin’s head falls into his hands. “I’m saying that I don’t care if living with you means I can’t bring girls home from L.A., because I don’t want them. I’m saying that it doesn’t matter if I have to vacuum every goddamn day, because if that’s what I have to do to make you happy, then I’ll do it. I’m saying that I don’t care if everything in the whole apartment ends up being pink, because pink reminds me of you, and I think about you all the time anyway, so it’ll just give me an excuse. I’m saying that I want to live with you, and not because I’m lonely, but because I’m lonely without you.”

“Jin,” Yamapi whispers, and his eyes are wide, and Jin thinks they look like pools in the moonlight—he can see the stars reflected from the night sky shining in the waters of Yamapi’s dark eyes. 

Jin swallows. “So I know it’s probably not what you wanted to hear and I just—“ Jin’s words are cut off as Yamapi pulls him in tight, and Jin’s face mashes into Yamapi’s muscular chest, He breathes in the scent of Yamapi’s lavender detergent, and of Yamapi’s skin, which smells like sunflowers. 

“Jin, you idiot,” Yamapi mutters into Jin’s hair, his voice sounding thick like he might be crying. “Jin you big fucking idiot.”

Jin’s hands fist in Yamapi’s t-shirt. “You’re not mad?” he asks, still trying to figure out what’s happening.

“Yes, I’m mad!” Yamapi says, voice still muffled by Jin’s fluffy hair. His hands are tightly gripping at Jin’s back, pulling him so tight that Jin can’t think of pulling back to look at Yamapi’s face. “I thought you’d never…I thought I was the only one who...”

Jin can feel his heart stop. “What?” He wants to look at Yamapi, but Yamapi’s hold is steadfast, and Jin can only feel the rapid beating of Pi’s heart as he relaxes in Pi’s arms. 

“Jin, I don’t care that you’re messy. I don’t care if you stay up too late playing music, or if you can’t cook. I don’t care that you accidentally leave the air conditioner on in the summer even when you’re not home,” Pi says softly, and Jin licks his lips. 

“Then why…? Why did you keep making all those excuses?”

“Because,” and _now_ , now Pi pulls away from Jin, resting his strong hands on Jin’s shoulders and looking him straight in the eyes. His face is kind of wet, and Jin wonders if he’s been crying or if Jin’s hair is still a little wet from the shower, or it’s some combination of the two. “Do you know what it’s like to be in love with your best friend, and not be able to say anything? To worry that if you say anything, if you give anything away, you could lose the best thing in your life?”

Jin looks at Pi, just looks at him. He looks at his eyes, framed by those fluttering lashes that tickle Jin’s forehead when Pi falls asleep watching dramas, and he looks at Pi’s mouth, with it’s gentle laugh lines, and imagines the way Pi’s whole face lights up when he laughs from deep in his belly. He looks at Pi’s strong shoulders, and arms, which Jin falls into first thing when he comes back from a trip, because Pi is always waiting at the airport for him, and always swings him around like he’s Scarlett O’ Hara, and doesn’t give a fuck if anyone is watching. He looks at Pi and he sees all his happiness, wrapped up in one man, one man who’s been with him since as long as he cares to remember.

“Yeah, I think I might now exactly what that feels like,” Jin says, and a grin steals it’s way across Yamapi’s face like sunlight breaking through the end of night, and it is dawn now in Jin’s heart. 

And there’s nothing for Jin to do now but lean forward and kiss him, to capture some of that sunlight in his lips and taste a bit of that new morning. 

Yamapi’s lips slip against his own with intent, and Jin’s hands creep timidly around Yamapi’s waist to clutch at the back of his shirt. Yamapi just pulls him tighter against his hard chest, and it makes Jin sigh and part his lips. Yamapi takes immediate advantage, rushing into his mouth and exploring, and Jin is quick to respond, too, tilting his head slightly left for more access. Yamapi’s mouth is hot and slick, and addictive, and Jin feels like he’s being drugged by Yamapi’s drawling kisses, lazy liquid fire as he slowly caresses the inside of Jin’s mouth, dragging along the inside of Jin’s teeth and mewling when Jin playfully nips at his tongue, not hard enough to hurt. 

Jin pushes him backward, and now Yamapi is laying flat on his back on the couch, and Jin is scrambling to get closer.

“Mother _fucker_ ,” Yamapi yells out suddenly, when Jin slides up to straddle Yamapi on the couch, legs on either side of Yamapi’s hips in the narrow space. 

“What?” Jin says, immediately sitting up, lips leaving Yamapi’s collarbone in favor of looking down at him with concern. “What’s wrong?”

“The fucking couch stabbed me in the ass!” Yamapi says, and Jin can’t help it, he burst in to laughter, the kind that makes his whole belly shake, and Yamapi tries to glare at him, but soon he’s laughing too, and Jin collapses down onto him, head falling into the crook of Yamapi’s neck.

“I told you it was a devil-couch,” Jin say, and his lips brush across Yamapi’s ear, and suddenly Yamapi isn’t laughing anymore, and his body is quivering again with something other than mirth.

“Cockblocked by my own couch,” Yamapi says. “The traitor.” He gasps out the last part, because Jin has sucked his earlobe into his mouth, nibbling lightly with his teeth, and then Jin is kissing right behind it. “Jin,” he whispers, and Jin pulls back again, to look at him, and Yamapi’s eyes are smoldering, the dark color of his irises looking almost aflame. 

Jin licks his lips, and Yamapi’s eyes shift down hungrily, and it sends shivers down Jin’s spine. “Bedroom,” he says hoarsely, and Yampi sits up with Jin on top him, lifting Jin like he’s nothing, even though Jin is a grown man and not _that_ light. Jin admires the way Yamapi’s abs clench with the effort. 

When Yamapi picks him up completely, standing next to the couch with his hands tight around Jin’s waist, tight enough to bruise, Jin wraps his legs around Yamapi’s waist, catching his balance by sinking his fingers into Yamapi’s hair, and brings his mouth back to Yamapi’s for another kiss. 

It burns even hotter than before, and Yamapi grunts with the strain of holding Jin, sliding his hands down to Jin’s ass and grabbing, holding Jin up from below. He pulls Jin tighter against him, and now it’s Jin who gasps, lips lifting from Yamapi to release a blissful sound as their hips grind together just right. 

“Bedroom,” Jin says again, and Yamapi starts walking, blindly, bumping them into walls and shattering a lamp when Jin’s knee hits it and it falls to the floor. It stings, but Jin doesn’t care, because then Pi has him pressed against the wall in the hallway outside Pi’s bedroom door, and he’s kissing Jin so fiercely that Jin’s worried the heat building up inside him is going to set the whole flat on fire. 

Jin drops his legs and pushes Yamapi back, through the door, hands reaching for the fastening to Yamapi’s jeans as Yamapi releases Jin’s mouth for mere seconds to tug his shirt over his head before he dives back in, tongue licking and exploring all over again. Jin’s hands frantically pull at the button on Yamapi’s jeans, yanking down the zipper, and the Jin is pushing Yamapi’s jeans and briefs down to the floor blindly as Yamapi attacks his lips. 

Jin shoves, hard, and Yamapi falls to the bed, and Jin grabs his arms and pins him, legs once again on either side of Pi’s hips. It’s just like when they used to wrestle, Jin thinks, teasing each other and tickling, only now Yamapi is hard and naked and wanting beneath him, so it’s so much _better_ than that.

“Why am I the only one naked, here?” Yamapi gasps, when Jin drags himself away from the blissful heat of Yamapi’s mouth and the curling deviousness of his tongue to lick and suck his way along Yamapi’s jaw.

“Because I’m more industrious than you are,” Jin replies, pressing down with denim-clad hips against Yamapi’s naked erection. The cloth separating them is enough to tease Jin, to make him want Yamapi so bad he thinks he might explode. “I want you so bad,” Jin says, and Yamapi’s quick inhale is all the warning Jin has before Yamapi is rolling them over. They wrestle for control, but Yamapi is stronger than Jin, and more ruthless, skating his fingers across Jin’s collarbone until Jin is laughing and relenting. 

Yamapi uses his newfound position on top to divest Jin of his t-shirt, before leaning in and dropping his open mouth over Jin’s nipple, causing Jin to arch up in desperate want. It’s hot, so hot, and all of a sudden Jin remembers being pressed up against the wall in that random L.A. nightclub, wishing the lips on him were Yamapi’s. 

Now they are, and desire and lust curl and snap like whips of fire in Jin’s gut, and he feels a surge of possessiveness wind up through him. Yamapi’s tongue sneaks out and circles around his belly button, dipping into the indentation like a tease, and Jin snaps, pressing his hand against Yamapi’s shoulders and topping him. 

The battle for dominance, a tussling sort of play that has Yamapi laughing even as he’s moaning, because Jin cheats and wraps his hand around Yamapi’s cock and Yamapi’s suddenly not struggling anymore. He’s laying spread out for Jin’s eyes across tangled cotton sheets, his skin soft and flush, and looking even rosier against the gentle pink of Yamapi’s bed-set, and Jin can’t resist crawling down and wrapping his lips around Yamapi’s purple erection. 

The pre-come tastes salty in his mouth, and it’s not what he expected. He’s not upset at the taste, and the sinful, lush moan Yamapi gives out when Jin lets Yamapi’s cock sink all the way to the back of his throat has Jin’s blood singing and his erection straining painfully against his jeans. 

“Jin, if you don’t stop, I’m going to…” Yamapi says, and Jin ignores him in favor of the tiny gasping whines Yamapi makes when he curves his tongue along the underside of Yamapi’s cock, and the way his entire chest is red with arousal. “Jin not like this.” Jin thinks like this is fine, though, just fine, and he loves the control, the way he’s unraveling Yamapi like Yamapi is the loose piece of thread at the waist of his sweatpants. He loves the way Yamapi is falling apart under the circle of his lips and the flicks of his tongue.

But Yamapi is determined, threading his hands into Jin’s hair and yanking, fiercely, tugging Jin up to his mouth and grabbing at Jin’s jeans, which fall open under Yamapi’s clever and dexterous touch as easily as Jin does, Jin’s mouth tumbling open at the insistent prod of Yamapi’s tongue. 

“No underwear?” Yamapi asks, as Jin hisses at the brush of Yamapi’s fingers across his now-bared erection. 

“Hate doing laundry,” Jin says, and Yamapi laughs and runs his palm along the length of Jin’s dick, movements restricted by Jin’s jeans. 

“Jin,” Yamapi gasps, as Jin slides his own jeans off and kicks them to the floor. “Fuck me.”

Jin throbs at the words, and pushes against Yamapi, and Yamapi makes this keening sound as Jin’s cock rubs hard against his own. “Yeah?” Jin asks, and he’s looking straight into Yamapi’s eyes. 

Yamapi flicks his eyes over to the bed-side table, and what Jin finds inside are any number of bizarre things, from rabbit shaped paper-clips to pocket knives to some weird contraption Jin is pretty sure they can use some other time. “What are you, a bedroom boyscout?” Jin asks, as he wraps his fingers around a tube of lubrication, and then seeks out a condom.

“Always be prepared,” Yamapi says cheekily as Jin opens the tube of lube and squirts a little into his palm. 

Jin warms it in his hand, as Yamapi watches him with heavy lidded eyes as Jin slicks three fingers with it, casually wiping the remainder on his thigh. “So,” Jin says conversationally. “I only know vaguely what I’m doing here.”

Yamapi chuckles. “Do you know where your dick goes?” he asks, and Jin smiles. 

“I always know where my dick goes,” Jin replies, leaning down to press a kiss on Yamapi’s hip bone. Yamapi’s erection his swollen, and Jin can’t resist another quick lick along the underside with the flat of his tongue.

“Well, hurry up and put your fingers there first, to stretch it out,” Yamapi manages, and then Jin’s eyes catch Yamapi’s again, and he’s wriggling his index finger into that impossibly tight hole, watching Yamapi’s every reaction for signs of discomfort. “Weird,” Yamapi says, as Jin flexes the finger, and starts pumping it in and out. “Weird but not bad weird. Just weird weird.”

“And this is why I’m the good songwriter,” Jin says, pressing a kiss against the inside of Yamapi’s thigh as Yamapi starts to loosen around his finger. “At least you’re pretty.” He quickly slides in another, and scissors them, carefully, and Yamapi jumps, startled, when Jin crooks them. “What happened?”

“That, again,” Yamapi says, licking his lips. Jin bends his fingers again, and then Yamapi is gasping loudly, hips arching slightly as Jin watches amazed, pressing his fingers against that spot over and over again as Yamapi thrashes and keens for more. “oh my fucking god, Jin, hurry up,” Yamapi says, and it sounds almost like a sob, and it makes Jin so hot that he has to reach down and touch himself, with his other hand, or he’s going to go insane. 

He slides a third finger into Yamapi, and now he prods against that spot repeatedly, thrusting into his own hand as Yamapi pushes back against his intruding fingers. 

“Now, Jin. Now.” Jin doesn’t hesitate, grasping blindly on his left for the tube of lube and the condom, quickly tearing the foil and rolling it on, trying not to shudder as his overly excited cock throbs at the thought of being inside Yamapi, at feeling those muscles constricting around him, grip as tight as a glove. He lathers the outside with lube, and then lines himself up with Yamapi’s hole. 

“Pi,” he says, and Yamapi’s eyes are the darkest Jin’s ever seen them, full of all kinds of things both spoken and unspoken, and then Yamapi hooks his legs around Yamapi’s waist and drags him forward, and then Jin is pushing inside the tightest thing he’s ever felt. “Holy shit,” Jin says, and he tries to stay still, wants to look up and see if Yamapi’s okay, but then Yamapi lets out this rough yell and it’s all Jin can do to keep from shattering right there at Yamapi’s voice, which is probably the sexiest thing he’s ever heard.

“Move,” Yamapi says, and then Jin is pulling all the way out and then ramming himself back in, hard, and Yamapi’s moan is jerky, his voice rising and falling as Jin slams in and our, hitting that spot inside Yamapi with almost every thrust. “Faster.”

They won’t last long, and they both know it. Yamapi was ready to come before Jin had even slid inside him, and denial of friction had left Jin so aching and aroused it had hurt, and now, sheathed inside of Yamapi, in the most perfect grip he’d ever felt in his entire life, Jin could feel himself balancing on the tentative edge of orgasm. 

“Pi, I’m gonna—“

“Me too,” Yamapi says, and then Jin grasps between them and jerks, once, twice, and then Yamapi is coming all over his hand and on both of their chests, and his spasms push Jin over the edge as well, everything going white for what must be seconds but feels like minutes as Jin soars.

Then he’s collapsing, feeling himself start to soften inside of Yamapi, and he pulls himself out, typing the end of the condom and throwing it somewhere that is decidedly not the trash.

“You’re disgusting,” Pi mumbles as he drags Jin’s body up so that Jin is laying comfortably at his side, Jin’s head resting on his arm and Jin’s own arm slung across Yamapi’s sweaty torso. “You’ve torn my apartment apart in minutes. You’re like a natural disaster.”

“So does this mean you don’t want to live with me?” Jin asks, smiling, and Yamapi looks down, before reaching over with his left hand and lifting Jin’s chin up. He presses the softest of kisses against Jin’s forehead. 

“I think we can work something out,” Yamapi says, and Jin’s arm tightens around Yamapi’s torso, feeling like nothing in his life has ever been so flawless. “What are you doing, Jin?” Yamapi asks, as he feels Jin’s constricting grip.

“Holding on as tight as I can,” Jin says. “And never letting go.”

Yamapi presses another kiss to his forehead, and Jin feels like the sun.

 

***

Jin hears Yamapi open the door, and grabs a couple more beers from the fridge when he hears Ryo’s voice echoing through the hallways of their new apartment.

“Nice place,” Ryo says, and Jin grins as he grabs the hot pink bottle opened that Yamapi had insisted on. 

“Want a drink?” Jin offers, holding out the beer to Ryo as he walks into the living room.

“Who left the door to his cage open?” Ryo asks jerking a thumb at Jin as Jin sets the bottle on the coffee table in front of him, and Kamenashi snorts as Jin hands him a beer too. “And where is the bottle opener?”

Jin fishes it out of his pocket, and Ryo stares at it like it has herpes. “Here you go,” Jin says, smirking, as Ryo gingerly takes it and opens Kamenashi’s bottle, then his own. 

“What is this monstrosity of gay?” Ryo asks, and Yamapi looks up from where he’s chatting with Yuu about Yuu’s new stage play. 

“You don’t like it?”

“Well, it does make me want to get drunker,” Ryo muses. “So maybe it’s serving it’s purpose after all.”

Kusano appears from the balcony, and sinks down on the couch. “I love this couch,” he says, and Jin grins. 

“We just bought it,” Jin says.

“Good, because Yamapi’s old couch was possessed by the ghost of Kame’s dignity, and your sofa looked like it had had sex with the entire cast of MacBeth,” Ryo tells him, and Yamapi crows in victory. 

“I told you your couch was terrible, too,” Yamapi says, and Shirota is laughing so hard he’s clutching his stomach, and Kamenashi is looking at them all like they’re his minions. Kusano has his head leaning back contentedly, enjoying the soft fabric of Jin’s new couch.

“Akanishi has always had subpar taste in, well, everything,” Kamenashi says, eying the pink and red plaid throw pillows on the armchair. “Yamashita excluded.” He prods one of the pillows with a tentative finger, and grimaces. “These really are the worst of both worlds, though.”

Ryo cackles, because he delights in other people being mocked, and gives Kame a high five. 

Jin catches Yamapi’s eye as Yamapi heads into the kitchen to score a few more drinks, and the smile that Yamapi offers him in return is so bright that Jin feels like he’ll never be lonely again.

He’ll always have this home to come back to, no matter how well he does in America, or what happens with his career, and he’s never going to let Yamapi slip through his fingers.


End file.
